


Community of Three

by crushing83



Series: Community Outreach [3]
Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crossover, First Meetings, Gen, Post-Season/Series 06, Post-Season/Series 14, arthur ketch is evil and no one will ever convince me otherwise, not necessarily season 14 compliant, playing fast and loose with each show's canon, strong possibility of some OOC-ness, three wicked redheads, vague retelling of their histories, vague sharing of their histories, working together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-16 19:08:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16959822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crushing83/pseuds/crushing83
Summary: Not for the first time in her life, Lydia wishes she knewallshe can do as a banshee---especially when someone seems else seems sure of her abilities and kidnaps (and threatens) her to procure her services. Charlie and Rowena come to her rescue before her situation can become too sticky.





	Community of Three

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still trying to figure out my feelings/position on Scott. In the meantime, I had this idea and started picking at it. I'm still pretty burnt out from NaNo, and I'm not one hundred percent thrilled with it, but if I re-read it one more time, I'm probably going to delete it. So... posting tonight! It feels incomplete and I apologise for that in advance. Still, I'm not ruling out a sequel to the story, so maybe there will be more later. Thanks for giving this story a try!

It had been a long time since she'd been captured and held prisoner, so Lydia supposed it was her turn. Knowing that if she lost her head she'd lose her advantage, she inhaled slowly and took stock of her present situation. 

She'd been at the Rose and Crown with her lab partners. They'd been doing shots, celebrating their grade because they were the only group to exceed the class average, and Lydia had been nursing a glass of wine as she celebrated with them. Since the pub wasn't even a thirty-minute walk from the edge of campus, there were a lot of students among the patrons; since it was after six o'clock, there were a lot of working professionals in the crowd, too. She hadn't thought anything of it when a well-dressed, well put-together man offered to buy her a drink in exchange for conversation; it wasn't all that unusual, and she thought he looked decent enough to be worthy of at least a few minutes of her time. 

As they talked, the man who introduced himself as Arthur Ketch became less safe and more mysterious. She started looking for concealed weapons when his suit jacket moved in all the wrong ways, familiar enough with the way Chris Argent would carry his secret arsenal in a variety of situations; after finding one weapon, she found a few more, and decided he was either a spy stereotype, complete with a British accent, or an affluent hunter, looking for his next target. 

She thought she'd escaped his clutches---assuming she was his next target---but he caught up to her and cornered her when she'd left through the pub's back exit. Before she could scream, he'd pulled out some sort of fancy gadget and with one press of a button the darkness of unconsciousness had rolled in across her eyes and mind. 

It was embarrassing. It was terrifying, too, but to date, mostly embarrassing. 

She could accept her lapse in judgement---though she certainly wouldn't admit to it if any of her pack asked how she'd gotten into that particular mess---as long as she found a successful escape. 

Her first step was assessing her situation. She was tied to a chair, in the middle of a fairly dank room that seemed to be in a warehouse of some sort, if the walls made of cinder block and metal sheeting were any indication. 

And, judging by the table of utensils that had to be replicas of items from the Dark Ages, Lydia was pretty sure the man who captured her was a monster only Gerard Argent could appreciate. 

She would have given in to the urge to shiver, but in case he was watching her, somehow, she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her discomfort. 

He hadn't gagged her---yet. That was one point in her favour. She wouldn't scream until she could direct the sound at something---or someone---specific. Despite that reservation, she liked knowing she had that weapon in her arsenal in case he meant to do her fatal harm. 

In the short term, it seemed like he wanted something from her. Information about her pack, perhaps, which was information she'd be very reluctant to give anyone. She couldn't imagine what else he would need from her---or what else she could provide. She wasn't a witch or sorcerer or druid; she didn't have magical powers. She wasn't a therianthrope; she didn't have superhuman strength. All she had was her mind and knowledge, and even that didn't seem like enough to warrant being tricked and kidnapped. 

"Ah. You're awake." 

Lydia scowled as Arthur Ketch---if that was even his name---walked in front of her. His smirk made her want to growl, and then promptly claw the smirk from his stupid face. She wished she could borrow Scott's or Liam's wolfish powers for that very moment. She would rip him to pieces. 

She still might, she realised, if she could find a way to escape her bonds and catch him at just the right moment so she had the advantage. 

"I suppose you're wondering why I've abducted you, Ariel." 

In response, Lydia arched one of her perfectly groomed eyebrows. She was _so_ glad she hadn't given him her real name. He definitely did not deserve it. 

"Yes. Well. To be perfectly honest, I loathe your kind. The screaming, really, is unnecessary," Arthur said, folding his hands together and letting them hang. "Shrill, don't you think?" 

Lydia remained silent. 

"Don't bother trying to make my head explode," he continued. "I've taken precautions. This whole building is warded to keep any banshee from reaching their full volume." 

While she'd never admit it, she found that to be impressive. She hadn't known magic could be used in that way, by someone who didn't have even have an iota of magical power inside of them. She filed that information away in her mind, along with a mental note to talk to Derek when she next got the chance, because Deaton, as helpful as he could be when he was so inclined, was far too frustrating in conversation. Derek had more experience and was more likely to share information with her if it didn't have to do with his personal history. 

"Now. I need something from you, and if you give it to me, I will let you leave," Arthur said, shaking her from her thoughts. "If you don't give it to me, well…" he gestured towards the table of knives and skewers and other pain-delivering implements. He clucked his tongue. "I will do my best to convince you to change your mind. And believe me, my dear, my best is very, _very_ good." 

She'd known he was hiding multiple somethings from her, but as he let the mask slide away and show how cold his gaze truly was, she realised how much danger she was facing. 

"What do you want to know?" Lydia asked. 

"I need to know when I'm going to die, of course," Arthur replied. 

A glimpse of her surprise must have shown on his face, because he rolled his eyes and resumed talking. "I know, I know. Reapers and Death are the ones who have access to the books, but banshees are quite often able to circumvent all that dreadful paperwork," he said. "There are two others like you in town, but my spell suggested you have the most power and that means you are most likely to have the answer I seek." 

Lydia made another mental note to find another banshee---one who wasn't completely crazy---and learn what else she could do. 

Still… 

Being able to predict a person's death date was not a power she wanted. She didn't want to look at her friends, her family, her _pack_ , and know when they were going to die. 

"Why?" Lydia asked. 

"I'm the curious sort." 

She snorted. "I doubt that's it," she said. 

Arthur smirked. "No, it's not." 

"I am curious, though," Lydia said. "Someone with all your… paraphernalia isn't used to asking for favours, _obviously_ , but your approach could use some improvement. So. Why did you go to so much trouble?" 

"Now that I've outlived my usefulness, I want to know if and when a certain pair of hunters will be coming after me," Arthur replied. "And that is information you can access." 

_How?!_ was what she wanted to ask, but with the Dread Doctors ordeal in her memory, she didn't feel like revealing her lack of knowledge and skill would end well for her. 

"Why should I?" Lydia asked. She tilted her head towards the table of torture tools. "Besides the obvious, I mean." 

"It's in your nature, is it not?" 

She didn't dignify his incredibly off-base comment with a response. If he couldn't understand that her entire life was about being more than just a banshee, well, that was his narrow-minded problem. 

Before either of them could say anything else, Arthur's phone chimed. He looked annoyed to be interrupted, at first; when he looked down at his device and its screen, though, he smirked. 

"One moment, my dear," he said. "This call can't wait." 

Arthur left the room. Lydia, left with her thoughts and the information she'd gathered from her abductor, started tugging on her restraints in an attempt to free herself before he returned. 

"She's here!" 

Lydia would never admit to _squeaking_ in future retellings of her misadventure, but she knew she did make a very high-pitched sound of surprise. 

Two redheaded women came into the room, one dressed for casual combat and the other dressed for a semi-formal event. The former was carrying a gun and had a large knife clipped to her belt; the latter was carrying Lydia's purse. 

"Hey. I'm Charlie, and this is Rowena," the combat-ready redhead said. "You ready to get out of here?" 

"How did you…" 

"We've been following Ketch, the naughty puppy," Rowena said. "When Samuel suggested he was up to his old antics, Charlie and I decided to investigate." 

"He hasn't killed anyone yet, but he's clearly moving in that direction," Charlie added as she sliced Lydia's bonds with her knife. "You got a name, princess?" 

"How do I know I can trust you with it?" Lydia asked. 

"Smart. Well. How about… for now, we just get out of here?" 

"He did magic to find me," Lydia said. "What will stop him from---" 

"This, dearie," Rowena said, holding up a small homemade satchel. It smelled like it was full of herbs. She offered Lydia her purse and the small package. "Keep this on your person and you won't register as anything supernatural." 

"Seriously?"

"Powerful witch," Rowena said, as if that was enough of an answer. 

Truthfully, for the moment, it was enough of an answer. Lydia was sure she'd have more questions once she was out of the building and somewhere much, much safer, but she stood up and nodded and pocketed the bag of whatever it was. She'd get an explanation later, she decided, as she moved to stand between them. 

"Y'know, he saved my ass a couple of times in the other world, but all this?" Charlie said, brushing a finger over one of the more complicated tools on the table. "This gives me the heebie-jeebies. Let's go." 

Lydia nodded. Hesitating only to grab her coat from another chair, she hurried after Charlie, who was holding her gun again as she prepared to round a corner on their way to escape. She knew better than to say anything, but she kept her eyes peeled for the runes or whatever Arthur had done that kept her from screaming. 

Large, red, spray-painted X's greeted Lydia when Charlie and Rowena escorted her outside. 

"What were the… the wards?" Lydia asked. "I've never heard of---" 

"I'll draw you a picture later," Rowena interrupted. "But for now, let's put a bit more distance between us and the hunter who lives for torture and murder." 

"He's not my first," Lydia said, smirking a bit as she let Charlie pull her towards an old jeep that reminded her of Stiles' precious vehicle. "My pack has had bad luck with hunters who kill for sport. Or pleasure. I can't even say for sure he's the worst." 

"He is in my top three, easily," Rowena said. "I've been alive for centuries and that slime is in my top three." 

"Guess you haven't met any of the Argents, then?" 

"Gerard, his _charmingly_ murderous wife, or his two children, 'Ruggedly Reasonable' and 'Animal Crackers?'" Rowena asked. 

"Please tell me those are their names," Charlie muttered, opening the passenger side door for Lydia, who scampered into the backseat without any provocation. 

"Chris and Kate," Lydia said, "but they're apt descriptions. And---" Lydia broke off as Rowena sat in front of her and shut the door "---you met Gerard's wife? I thought, for Chris to turn out so… well, stable, that their mother must've been---" 

"Och, no, dearie, she was worse than Gerard," Rowena interrupted, her words punctuated by Charlie closing the passenger side door again. 

Lydia frowned. She found that hard to believe---how could anyone be _worse_ than Gerard?!---but it wasn't impossible to picture. 

Charlie hopped into the driver's seat and slammed the door behind herself. As she started the vehicle's engine, she said, "Who are these people? More of the bad hunters?" 

"While the _Arrrrgents_ were known for their slaying of werewolves since The Beast, she was a Hopkins, a descendent of the---" 

"Witchfinder General?" Lydia supplied. 

"Precisely," Rowena replied. 

Charlie pulled the jeep off the curb and onto the road that took them from the cluster of seemingly abandoned warehouses towards a more populated area. Wary of being found again, Lydia palmed the satchel Rowena had given her and studied it more closely. It had to be magic, but she'd never seen the magic a witch could do, so she didn't understand its source. 

"So, they're like hunter royalty?" Charlie asked, shaking Lydia from her thoughts. 

"Basically, yes," Rowena replied. 

Charlie nodded. Then, after a pause, she asked, "What happened to them?" 

After a long, slow exhale, Rowena said, "Lillian met her sticky end at the hands of a demon and their two sycophants. Witches who only become witches because they worship a demon---not witches with natural talent or those who work hard for their power. And Gerard---" 

"His psychotic daughter was bitten, turned into a werejaguar, and when her attempt to get back into his good books failed---because obviously it was going to fail---she ended up shot with bullet doused in a species of yellow wolfsbane and then she ended up going for Gerard's throat," Lydia supplied. 

"Reeeally?" Rowena purred. When Lydia confirmed that as the truth, she laughed. "It was poetic enough when I'd heard he tried to scheme his way to be bitten by an alpha werewolf, only to end up suffering from mountain ash sickness for his efforts. I'd assumed that had finished him off, but---" 

"He's like the cat who came back. Only evil," Lydia interrupted. "And how did you hear about---" 

"I met someone who likes to gather information as much as I do---if not more. Excellent gossip. Wonderful dancer, both vertically and horizontally," Rowena said. She turned her head and winked at Lydia. "He told me he was there that night. I don't collect phone numbers, so I never saw the point to following up. The monster was dead. End of story." 

"Well, we're ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure he's dead for good now," Lydia said. 

Lydia was also ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure Rowena had crossed paths---and other things---with Peter Hale, but she wasn't going to ask. She didn't want confirmation; she didn't want Rowena to know where her pack was based until she knew they could be trusted, and being a notch in Peter's bedpost wasn't a great character reference. Even if Rowena saved her from torture and more time in Arthur Ketch's company, Lydia didn't know if she could be trusted with even the smallest bit of information about her pack. 

"And Kate?" Rowena asked. 

"Same. Finally. She hasn't shown up on anyone's radar yet, so..." 

"Well. If I hear anything, I will let you know," Rowena said. 

"How?" 

"You carry that hex bag, and I will always be able to find you," Rowena explained. 

Lydia snorted. "I don't think I find that reassuring. I don't know who either of you are." 

"Likewise," Charlie said. 

"Let's start big and work our way down to the details, then, shall we?" Rowena suggested. "Do you know the Winchesters?" 

Lydia opened her mouth to say 'no,' but then, she remembered their names, as two of the hunters recruited to help Scott and the pack in their mission to save others. Derek had been visiting them. Derek knew one of them, from before he returned to Beacon Hills. Scott thought they were decent hunters---and he liked that they had their own family, or pack, of similarly-minded hunters, who saved Malia when she'd gotten into trouble. 

"I haven't met them, but I know of them," Lydia said. "They helped some friends of mine." 

"Oh! Derek and the other wolfies?" Charlie asked. 

"You know Derek?" Lydia asked. 

"I was there when he visited," Charlie said. She chuckled. "I even painted his toenails." 

Lydia laughed---despite the stress of the day, despite her concerns and caution---remembering the pack meeting and Malia taking a picture so she could see his pedicured toes more clearly than she could through Derek's laptop's camera. 

"What colour did you paint them?" Lydia asked. 

"Green." 

"All right, then," Lydia said. That was enough for her. Derek had become a bit of a recluse in the last year; Lydia doubted anyone but pack and the one who painted his nails would know what colour they were. She asked, "Are you taking me home or is there a safehouse nearby you use to regroup and have a glass of wine?" 

"Drinks we can do, but they'll probably be single malt scotch," Charlie said. "Does Ketch know who you are?" 

Lydia shrugged. "I told him my name is Ariel---which it isn't. I don't know if he knows my real name or where I live. He found me at a bar, off-campus. He made it seem like he was looking for _any_ banshee, and I just happened to be on his map." 

"Why?" Charlie asked. "Banshees predict death, right?" 

"He wanted me to tell him when he would die," Lydia admitted. "Something about Death and Reapers and their books? Something he thought I could circumvent. He was certain other hunters would be after him, now that he's no longer useful." 

"Can you do that?" 

"I didn't even know there was a capital-dee Death," Lydia said. "I can use my scream to knock down steel and brick, if it's loud enough, but I haven't figured out the predictions thing yet. So far, I just show up where death has happened. Or, I end up screaming involuntarily. Or hearing things. I don't know if I can make it all work for me that way." 

"Oh, yes, there's a capital-dee Death, dearie. This one is quite formidable. And a woman, physically, at least," Rowena said. 

Charlie drove them through a residential area as they talked about Death and her reapers, which evolved into a discussion about angels---in Lydia's reality and then in Charlie's former reality---and by the time she stopped in front of a large house with a 'For Sale' sign, Lydia almost felt like screaming under the pressure of so much more new-to-her information. 

A hand on her chin drew her out of her thoughts. Focusing again, her eyes landed on Charlie. 

"It's a lot, right?" she asked. "I mean, sure, you've been dealing with a lot of crazy stuff, but… Heaven and Hell---" 

"Are real." 

"'Fraid so," Charlie said, nodding. "You wanna come in with us? Rowena usually stays in five-star hotels, but with us tracking Ketch, who knows all about her, we've started squatting in empty houses. We have scotch and food and a couple air mattresses. We could tell you a bit more. And we can keep watch to make sure we weren't followed." 

Not wanting to be left alone just yet, Lydia nodded. They weren't pack, but Derek obviously liked Charlie enough to be more physically vulnerable than he'd probably been in a long time. Rowena didn't strike Lydia as the loyal sort; Charlie's affiliation with her counted for a few points, though Lydia felt like it would be premature to place any trust upon Rowena's shoulders. 

Still… they both seemed concerned enough for her welfare to stick around until the threat passed through Palo Alto. That counted for a few more points, too. 

After she nodded, Charlie grinned at her and pushed her seat forward so Lydia could join them in the driveway. Rowena opened the front door---with magic, most likely---and Charlie guided Lydia inside the house---

\---or tried to guide her inside the house, anyway. 

The moment Lydia's feet touched down onto the gravel, she felt the echo of something bone-achingly _terrible_ lingering in the air. There was no need to scream; it was an echo of past death, past trauma, and it still called to Lydia as if it were fresh. 

"Uh, whatcha doin'?" Charlie asked. 

Lydia already turned and set off in the direction of the reverberation. 

"Banshee's picked up a call," Rowena said from behind them. 

"This is how it works?" Charlie asked. "How does she get anything done? Ever?" 

"The curse of being a harbinger of death," Rowena replied. Lydia, who was still listening as she walked down the street of manicured lawns and darkened houses. "According to legend, a reaper mated with a human, way back when. And Death didn't recruit the bairn. Perhaps, if he had, the wee one would've grown into a reaper. However…" 

"That's where banshees come from?" Charlie asked. 

"That's the legend," Rowena replied. 

Lydia hoped she would remember that story. She hoped she could find some way to turn that story into information that could help her manage her banshee side with her human side. At the moment, she was more concerned with finding the origin of the death echo. 

When she stopped walking, she found herself in front of a large house that appeared to be divided into smaller units, judging from the two doors at the top of the front stairs. She listened to the echo---sounds of a struggle, a woman screaming, a man laughing, then nothing but quiet whimpers, before a _whoosh_ and another man screaming and shouting---and she watched the ghost of smoke pouring out of the window on her right. 

"Banshee girl?"

Lydia turned towards Charlie. "I prefer Lydia," she said, her voice soft. She could still hear the shouts and cries over the crackling fire. "Something _bad_ happened here. A fire. A woman died…" Lydia tilted her head and listened to the voices. "Someone named Jess. They were attacked… but they didn't die until the fire. And then someone's shouting for them. And someone's shouting for that someone. So much pain..." 

She sniffed. The scent of rotten eggs hadn't been on the air before she started her trek through the neighbourhood. 

"And so much sulphur," she added. 

"Demons," Rowena and Charlie said at almost the same time. 

"Really?" Lydia asked. 

Charlie nodded. "Something about the fire and brimstone. Makes 'em a little smelly." 

"Who was shouting?" Rowena asked. 

Lydia turned back to the house. "Two men," she answered, hearing one shout for Jess, and the other shout for… 

"Sam. He's shouting for Sam." 

A soft, quick inhalation was Lydia's only proof that someone had heard what she'd said---and made some sort of connection to it. When she looked at them, Charlie and Rowena were looking at each other. 

"Hey, Ro, you think it could be…" 

"I have better things to think about than their personal history," Rowena said. She sniffed. "You mistake me for someone who cares." 

Charlie snorted. "Sure, okay." 

"Anyone want to clue me in?" Lydia asked. 

"Well. There are these books. Everyone not in the know thinks they're complete fiction, but they're actually a _creeeepily_ accurate accounting of Sam's and Dean's steps through their version of the ramp-up to the apocalypse," Charlie explained, gesticulating with her head and hands as she spoke. "I don't know everything, but I know these books are the real deal. And. When Sam left Dean and his dad, he went to Stanford. Where he met the love of his young life, Jessica. And she ended up dying at the hands of a demon, who burned her on the ceiling of the place they shared. Dean ended up dragging him out before he could burn, too, although I doubt the demon would have been able to let it go that far, given how crucial Sam was to the whole thing. Anyway, that's what pulled Sam back into hunting---which is what Heaven and Hell needed." 

Setting aside the more worrying information in Charlie's speech, Lydia compared the bit about Jessica to the echo of death she'd heard coming from the house. It explained everything, from the fight to the shouting to the smoke. 

She nodded. "All right. Well. Small world." 

"Apparently," Charlie agreed. She tilted her head in the direction of their lodgings. "Can we head back?" 

"As long as you answer some of my questions about the other stuff you mentioned when we get settled," Lydia stipulated. 

"Deal." 

Lydia walked back to the house in which they'd be spending the night, trailing behind Charlie and Rowena as she tried to work through the ache left by the death echo. It didn't happen often, hearing the awful deaths years after they'd occured, but when it did the remnants would leave her hurting and feeling rattled. 

She felt the impulse to call Stiles. Whatever she and Stiles were to each other, whether or not it was platonic or romantic or something neither of them needed to label because it was so deep and strong that it defied conventional terms, he was always there for her when she needed someone to listen to her try to put ghosts to rest. It didn't matter who they dated or loved; Stiles would understand and listen and do what she needed him to do. They'd always be there for each other, having seen the worst and come out through the other side of it together. 

By the time they'd entered the empty house, Lydia's fingers were itching to place that call. 

Charlie and Rowena busied themselves with setting up the other air mattress and with preparing their meal---well, to be honest, Charlie busied herself while Rowena observed and commented from the sidelines---and Lydia decided to give in to the urge. 

Sitting on the closed toilet seat in one of the bathrooms, Lydia pulled her phone from her pocket and called Stiles. 

"And what can I do for you tonight, Fiery Goddess?" 

Lydia smiled. "Hey, Stiles." 

_"Hey,"_ he replied. _"What's up? You miss me?"_

"Always," she admitted. "I just… I've been having a bit of a strange night and I wanted to hear a familiar voice." 

_"Are you dying?"_

Lydia huffed out a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sigh of exasperation. "And you think I'd call you before calling nine-one-one?" she asked. "This is not a tragic romance novel, Stiles!" 

His responding laughter eased some of the ache in her head. _"Thank god for that,"_ he said. _"You hurt or anything?"_

"Nope, my rescuers got me out before I could be seriously hurt," she said. 

Stiles cleared his throat. He must have moved because the background noise behind him changed, from a low murmur to complete silence. _"Lydia? Can you tell me what happened?"_ he asked. 

"Yeah… yeah. So, my group aced the lab---" 

_"Was there ever any doubt? Really?"_ Stiles interrupted. 

Lydia smiled. "No, I guess not. Still. We were going out to celebrate. And it was fine until I met this guy… Charlie says his name is Arthur Ketch? He's sort of a hunter, but I think there's more to it than that. She says she'll fill me in later," she said. "Anyway, he kidnapped me. And Charlie and Rowena---they know those hunters helping us---rescued me. I had a death echo on our way to their safehouse… which is why I'm calling you." 

_"Need me to do a little digging? Drop some anonymous information for police to find?"_ Stiles asked. 

"No, I think… Charlie seemed to know who it was. The story matches with what I heard. And it has to do with demons, so there's nothing the police can do," Lydia replied. 

_"How's your head?"_

"Sore." 

Stiles sighed. _"I'm sorry. I wish I could be there to make you feel better."_

She wouldn't admit to it out loud because she didn't like making him feel guilty, but Lydia agreed with him. She wished he could be there to rub her temples and listen as she recounted what she was comfortable sharing from her experience. She wished he could be there to pour her wine and hold her close. She wished he could be there to help her return to normal. 

"I'm okay. We'll just have to have a night to ourselves when we're home," she murmured. 

_"That works for me,"_ Stiles said. 

"Good. because I wasn't giving you much choice in the matter." 

Stiles' laugh did what it did best, easing some more of the tightness at the top of her neck. She smiled and closed her eyes, savouring the sound as best as she could. 

_"I wish we could meet up over Spring Break,"_ Stiles said after a soft sigh. _"I miss your gorgeous personality and clever face."_

"Flatterer," Lydia purred. 

After another little laugh, Stiles said, _"So, are you going to tell me about it?"_

"What? The death echo?" Lydia said in response. She brushed a smudge of dirt off her jeans. "It wasn't the worst one. It was just… I think it had to do with someone one of the Winchesters knew, so it's a little weird." 

_"Huh. That's kind of cool in a weird, 'small world' way. I get what you mean. Small world, even in the afterlife, I guess,"_ Stiles said. _"But, that's not what I meant. Why did this Arthur Ketch douchebag kidnap you?"_

"Oh. Banshee stuff. He thought I could tell him when he's going to die," Lydia replied. She sighed. "I need to know what I can do. I didn't know I could do that. I don't want to be able to do that, but I feel like…" 

_"Like you just don't know what's possible?"_ Stiles suggested. 

She sighed again. "Yeah." 

_"Do Charlie or Rowena know anything?"_ Stiles asked. _"Maybe they can help fill you---"_

"Rowena told me a very interesting fairy tale about the origin of banshees," Lydia said. She crossed her legs. "It's not the same thing, though. I want to learn---"

_"From a banshee. Yeah. I can understand that. Maybe there's another one in Palo Alto?"_

Lydia smiled a bit. "My kidnapper suggested there are two others in the area, but I'm the more powerful option," she said. "I don't know if they can teach me anything, but if I can find them, I will." 

_"Maybe Dean's angel buddy can put you in touch with one?"_ Stiles suggested. _"I mean, if you strike out locally. They're only helping us with the underground werewolf railroad, but with Derek knowing Sam from before, maybe there's a possibility for more. Like a pack alliance, but… not."_

"That's a suggestion," Lydia agreed. "Also. Rowena gave me a small hex bag. She says as long as I keep it on me, I won't register as anything supernatural." 

_"Okay. That is great. For passive protection. I wonder if we could make more of those. I guess they wouldn't work if Scott wolfed out or anything, but if anyone's using magic to find one of the pack---"_

Even though Stiles couldn't see the gesture, Lydia still nodded before she spoke. "Something to consider, I guess." 

_"Hey, Lyds?"_

"Hmm?" 

_"Are you safe there?"_

She hesitated, gathering her thoughts. Rowena would probably turn on her, if their interests ran in different directions, but she sensed Charlie was the sort who would protect those with her through thick and thin. 

"I think so," she said. "I don't like that the guy is probably going to go after another banshee, but---"  
A knock on the door interrupted her. "You think we're going to let him get what he wants?" Charlie asked through the wood. "C'mon, Banshee Girl, we're three wicked redheads. We can take him!" 

Hope fluttered in Lydia's chest at the idea---of the rescue and of meeting the other banshees in town---and she smiled into her phone. 

"Looks like we're going to be playing rescue, after all, Stiles," Lydia said as she hopped off of the toilet and opened the door. Charlie grinned at her; Lydia smiled back in reply. 

_"You're going to be careful, right?"_

"Of course, Stiles," Lydia replied. 

_"Call me when you're done saving the day?"_ he asked. 

"Yes, I'll call you again, soon," she promised. "You're okay? I know we didn't get to talk about your stuff---" 

Stiles chuckled. _"Yes, my stuff. The perils of paper writing while over-caffeinated,"_ he interjected. Lydia clucked her tongue; she didn't believe that was all he was doing. He snorted in response to her cluck. _"Okay, fine. I got a kid connected with the network. And helped Scott with his calculus. And solved two previously unsolved cases in one of my crim classes, but I can't exactly tell the prof or law enforcement, because… supernatural. But, apart from that, it's just me, a lot of coffee and energy drinks, and all my work."_

"You should try sleeping," Lydia commented. 

After a long, low sound, Stiles said, _"Yeah, I know. It's just… sometimes…"_

He was having the nightmares again. That was the tone of voice he used when he was struggling to be honest without burdening anyone. She wanted to fly him to her; she wanted to fly to him. She wanted to wrap him up and comb her fingers through his hair until he crashed into sleep, his body heavy against hers in trust that she'd watch over him while he rested. 

She also wanted the intimacy that came from whispering across pillows and sharing thoughts that they couldn't share with their dorm and class friends. 

"I know," Lydia murmured. "Me, too." 

_"Summer break,"_ Stiles whispered. _"You, me, a pile of movies, and all the blankets and pillows we can find."_

"I'll hold you to that," she agreed. 

_"All right. Go be wicked redheads and save some banshees,"_ Stiles said. 

"I love you," Lydia replied. 

_"I love you, too."_

She ended the call before he did and looked up into Charlie's face. Charlie pointed at the phone; Lydia smiled. "That's Stiles. He's my person," she replied. 

"Boyfriend?" Charlie asked. 

"He's my person," Lydia repeated. She shrugged. "He defies definition." 

"So, you're not together?" 

Lydia shrugged. "No, not now," she said. She arched an eyebrow. "We might be, again. We might not. We're… our anchors." 

"Poetic," Charlie said. 

"No less true, though," she said, brushing some dust from her sleeve. "Now, how are we going to save the other banshees?"

"Magic and a little luck," Charlie said. "Rowena's going to make more hex bags tonight---she says it has to be done at midnight for them to be most effective---and I've got some calls out to some of Dean's contacts in the area. She'll scry for them tomorrow morning if we can't find them on our own." 

"And the hex bags will keep Ketch from trying to find us normally?" 

Charlie grinned. "Well. First, I called Sam and Dean. They were in Idaho on a job. They'll be here tomorrow." 

Lydia perked up internally at the idea of _finally_ meeting Sam and Dean Winchester, after hearing about them from Scott and Derek. She was hesitant to approve of any plan where they killed Ketch, but she knew enough to know he was a serious danger to her pack and to others like them. If Sam and Dean believed in protecting people, they knew that, too. 

"Sam said he would put in a call to Chris… Argent? Your hunter friend? Apparently he told them there are places that can hold bad hunters," Charlie said. "Dean still wants to kill him. Sam wonders if the jail can hold Ketch, if it might be a better option. Someone like Ketch, trapped for the rest of his life." 

"Either way…" 

"Either way, he'll be taken care of," Charlie agreed. 

"That would be a relief," Lydia murmured. 

With a nod, Charlie reached out and took Lydia's hand. She guided Lydia through the house, until they made it to a large room with a gas fireplace. The fire burning warmed the space and cast mood lighting over the spread of blankets, food, and drink. Rowena was already stretched out, a glass of amber liquid in her hand. 

"Ladies." 

"Quite the spread you have there," Charlie said with a smirk and a wink. 

Rowena grinned. "Thank you, lassie," she purred. "Either of you care to join me?" 

"As long as you share some of that scotch," Lydia replied, sniffing the air. "What is it? Smells very peaty." 

"Islay, single malt, eighteen years," Rowena explained. 

With a nod of approval, Lydia sat down on one of the folded blankets and picked up one of the empty glasses. Charlie poured her a drink before pouring one for herself. 

"I propose a toast!" Charlie crowed. "To being three badasses on a mission to stop an evil jerkface!"

Rowena snorted, chuckling into her scotch. "So poetic, Charlie." 

"It's accurate," Lydia agreed. She raised her glass. "To being three badasses on a mission---" 

"To stop an evil... _mhac na galla_ [son of a bitch]," Rowena finished, laughter dancing in her eyes. 

They clinked their glasses together and sipped the caramel-coloured alcohol. Lydia savoured the way the warmth trailed down her throat, settling in her stomach. They might not be a part of Scott's pack, but they had goals that could bring Lydia a stronger sense of safety---and a stronger sense of identity, if any of the other banshees were willing to help her---and Lydia wanted to help them. 

It would be a more exciting end to the week than studying for her laser spectroscopy class could ever be.


End file.
